Autumn is here, apparently

As my friend Peter pointed out my blog has been very much neglected of late.  The cob webs of blogging have set in nearly as much as the cobweb of my cycling forays.  Never the less having done little more than weekend warrior mileage over the last 4 months I shall tell the tale of the Boxing day world champs… so gather round children.  The day was a Wednesday, more significantly boxing day.  Traditionally reserved for drinking unwanted wine that the relatives forced on you and gorging on the previous days left overs, I was about to learn that Perth cyclists must just have a protein shake and an early night on Christmas day.  I drove down, such is my current level of fitness (and frankly at a 6:30am start I would pretty much have to set off on Christmas day to ride there).  As I risked my regular parking spot before glancing around for the meter man, I assembled the bike in temperatures of 28 degrees.  I rolled the 300 yards or so through Fremantle’s back streets only to find the street literally crammed with cyclists.  Estimates put the number at around 350 riders, drawn in by the not so mythical Papas world champs.  Henk Vogels (a blast from the mid 90’s anyone?) presented a trophy before we got under way and the rules were briefly explained… It’s better to die than get dropped being the biggie.  I was sceptical and perhaps a bit arrogant as we set off but within a few hundred yards the Green edge boys, Cameron Meyer, Jack Bobridge, Luke Durbridge and Graham Brown were keeping the pace close to 50km/h.   Before long arrogance was replaced by pain and sweat as I was thrown back into a race not dissimilar to a kermesse.   I grimaced for the best part of an hour as one long line extended along Perth’s river side roads.  After 1 and a half hours I began to replace pain with optimism as we approached the final run in along the causeway and down to the finish line… but no, just as I made my way into the top 50 for the first time the expected left turn never came and instead we made our way onto what would have to be described as a finishing loop, 25k’s worth!  I was tailed off more than once as we snaked our way around Perth’s back roads but with a bit of savvy riding (alright a well timed red light) I found my way back to the dwindling bunch of 50 riders.  Unfortunately this story doesn’t end with Joel getting the better of Graham Browne in a tight finish, the last hill of the day saw me and about 20 others slip graciously off the back and arrive in a couple of minutes down, led home by the Australian institute of Sport boys, and I mean boys as they were all on Junior gears.  Needless to say this was by far the hardest club ride I’ve ever done, a 44 km/h (26mph) average and a slight hangover from the day before didn’t mix well.  Cameron Meyer took the win in front of a reasonably sized crowd, complete with a motor bike photographer.   

Onto the area which seems to be taking up most of my time out here in OZ, work.  I finally resigned from the cement factory in January of this year to pursue a slightly more unusual career as a… drum roll please… Pest controller.  The job is immensely varied, I drive all over Perth committing acts of insect atrocities, giving people peace of mind and pest free houses.  I can’t say it was my first answer when I was asked as a 5 year old what I wanted to be, but then again I’m not a fire engine either.  The job does take up a lot of my time but I am making a decent living from it and with the ever nearing arrival of my sister in Australia, the money will come in handy.  The only down side is the early Monday morning start as I roll up slightly bleary eyed having been up half the night watching the weekends Belgian spring classic!  Perth’s weather seems to be behaving like a middle aged man fretting over the purchase of a Harley at the moment.  The Summer was the hottest on record as we recorded 22 days which reached over 38 degrees, topping out at 43C.  Now that’s fair enough, a decent summer is much appreciated but as I write we are one month away from Winter, and the temperatures still hit 27/28 degrees almost daily as Perth clings on to the good old days of summer.  With a bit of luck the days of heavy rain, long evenings in front of the fire and a reason to wear the Duffel coat I recently purchased are not far away.   

Finally I like to give a special word for extraordinary achievements in cycling.  This one is not so much a result as much as it is a step into the unknown.  www.mnmtours.com is a blogging website following the exploits of my former room mate from Belgium back in 2011, Mike Gregg.  Please take a moment to follow his Journey across Europe by bike as he camps in every field and climbs every mountain.   

Below: I live about 10km into the darkness!
 ouch

Meet your new best friend… the alarm clock

6 months ago the idea of a 6am club run seemed absurd to me, in fact my roommate from this year’s Belgium stint, Rob, was constantly bantered about his weird world of 5:30am club runs back in his native Manchester.  I think the words I used were ‘disgraceful and downright unnecessary’.  Yet the wheels of fate see me here, well not literally but 4 hours ago I was sat in my car struggling to digest 5 snatched Weetabix and a couple of mugs of under brewed tea.  I was in the car on my way to ride my bike.  This practice used to be reserved strictly for races, but in the last 3 months I’ve broken many of my own cycling rules and this idea of driving to exercise is just another rule thrown to the wind in pursuit of a decent club run.  I park up in the port side suburb of Fremantle just after 6am.  I risk a parking ticket with the idea that if the meter man can get out of bed this early on a Sunday then he probably deserves my $100.  Only 2 sorts of people are out at this time… those that have been turfed out after the night clubs last orders, and of course cyclists.  I assemble the bike, zip up my jersey and proceed to weave my way through Fremantle’s revellers who seem to confuse me with a public urinal before finally reaching the civilized world of Papa’s café.  From there I am back in a more familiar world of posers and occasionally pro’s.  The ride meanders its way through the waterside suburbs, weaving its way past million dollar pads.  Perth’s roads are in pretty good knick, the lack of any frost means pot holes are non-existent and the only risk is whipping around a blind bend on sprinkler day to find the road awash with water and oil. There are a couple of sprints dotted around as the bunch strings its self out as we race through the financial district and finally a gallop at the end of the ride on the sea front,  It’s a good enough run as 75km takes just under 2 hours, certainly it justifies the 45km drive either way.  It is the nearest thing to my hometown favourite ‘café race’ as riders start getting spat out as soon as the bunch crests the first speed bump.  I am slowly getting some fitness back however, since finishing work for Christmas I have been doing between 2-3 hours every early morning, creeping out the door at 6am wearing nothing but shorts and jersey as it’s already 20 degrees.  My riding repertoire has swelled and I now know where the best spots are for kangaroo spotting and climbing practice.  My hunt for a local team has so far been unsuccessful but I guess I will have to let my legs do the talking as the road season down under starts in mid-April.    

On to the slightly less civilized world of employment.  I now have a title at work…’strapper’ (although my spell check seems to think that should be stripper!); and hopefully I will graduate to the dizzying heights of forklift driver soon.  Biceps are more valued than brains at work though (hence why I’m starting at the bottom of the pile), a new guy used the word trigonometry at work the other day and was met with a barrage of confused looks followed swiftly by four letter profanities (think fosters adverts but after the watershed).  Never the less most of the workforce is made up of foreigners, be it kiwis (New Zealand), Poms (English) or south East Asians and we all share the same ideas: make good money and enjoy it later in life.  I’ve even managed with Perth’s occasionally infernal heat, so far 38 has been the warmest but as summer blows in from the outback I’m assured the 40’s are not far away… gulp.  I am becoming quite settled here, I haven’t flirted with the idea of going home any time soon although I think the duck may have to be broken for le tours visit to Yorkshire in July 2014! 

I would like to take this chance to say a quick thank you for following me through one hell of a year.  Three countries, 40 races, 2 jobs and hopefully my last fresh start for the near future.  I wish everybody a good Christmas and good health for 2013.  A final mention of congratulations to Josh Edmondson who has finally achieved the recognition for his great talents and been snapped up by sky for the next 2 years… yet more proof if it were need that the work of the Dave Rayner fund is producing results.  

Happy Christmas, Gelukkige kerstmis  

The pommies first Whinge

Well it’s been six weeks now since I touched down on the red earth that passes for Australian soil.  I’ve been waiting for a moment of pure Australian culture to write and so as I sit here digesting last night’s kangaroo steak under a 35 degree sun I felt the time was right.  The majority of my time in those first few days was spent scouring the job pages in the local paper and negotiating the maze that is Australia’s various government departments.  One of the big sticking points was proving who I was and trying to convince the bored office worker on the other side of the desk that I should be allowed to stay over here.  The taxation department proved to be the most difficult people, which, considering I wanted to give them money is a surprise.  For nearly four weeks letters went back and forth like a ping pong ball… all at my expense of course before they finally granted me permission for me to start paying them.  This brings me conveniently to a bit of a home truth about Australia, you pay for everything! The best example I can think of is the bank… every month I entrust them with my hard earned money and in return they charge me the princely sum of $4 for the privilege.  They give me no interest and charge me the equivalent of pulling my pants down should I slip up and accidentally use an ATM that isn’t owned by them.  But having got that off my chest I feel much better, if not a little lighter in the pockets. 

My bike did eventually turn up around 10 days after I did.  Customs and quarantine went on a money making exercise slicing the tape of the box and popping a sticker on it before stinging me $115 for their efforts.  I took the old girl for its first spin just a day later.  I live at the bottom of a rather lazy range of hills so I found the first road up and snaked my way up its gentle slopes.  20 minutes later and I was puffing like an old race horse and wondering if I’d just moved to the Alps or something, the faint outline of muscles under a new carpet of leg hair the only sign that I used to be good at this stuff!  The roads up in the hills are not there for scenery, they connect remote villages and pompous golf courses to each other so there are a few risks that come with riding in the bush.  Fire is a biggie here.  I’ve done several rides where the smoke is fanned by the strong winds and the risks only increase between now and summer which is just a month away now.  The other one for me is the local wildlife.  Back in England you could set your watch by the Spring lambing season safe in the knowledge that a rude awakening at the Eddie Soens was just days away.  But here… I think the picture will have to speak for itself.  I was off on my weekend pootle around Canning Damn when I stopped dead in my tracks to marvel at this beauty.  It is a monitor Lizard, around 3 feet long and according to Wikipedia, only slightly venomous.  It’s not uncommon for me to come across lizards on my rides; they bask in the sun like Brits on a foreign holiday, so far no snakes but more disappointingly no kangaroos.  I have however been attacked on my bike.  There I was minding my own business when like a pantomime attack the bugger swooped in from behind… a magpie, clawing and pecking at my helmet for a good few hundred metres. 

After the first couple of weeks of settling in I started to clock up a steady stream of interviews from an apprentice chef to Pest control but the common theme of never hearing anything back began to get a bit disheartening.  I was picking up a couple of days of labouring here and there to tide me over financially and spending the rest of my time job hunting.  Labouring is not something I’ve ever done before.  By 11am on day 1 my pipe cleaner arms were beginning to drop off but by this point I’d already traded my sidi cycling shoes for steel capped boots so I knuckled down and kept unloading the boxes of condoms and subway sauce.  In the mean time I had been called in for an interview for a sales job in the heart of Perth… finally a chance to work in the vibrant hub of the inner city.  I waited in the reception surrounded by more beautiful girls than a snoop dogg music video.  Just half an hour later and I’d been given the job; although what the job entailed I still had no idea.  I went in apprehensively on day one.  The 40 minute train ride was more Delhi than Perth as crowds of people crammed in to what would have been a great advert for deodorant.  The job was everything a salesman doesn’t tell you, on the outside glamorous, spending my day ogling the local girls but realistically selling merchandise to people who neither needed it nor could really afford it.  By 1PM on day two I had quit, I morally objected to the job and its ruthless rates of commission ensured I would have only scraped a living.  As it turned out I wouldn’t even have earned a living as the $160 worth of commission owed to me never materialised.  I knew by this point that I had to start living more like the immigrant I was.  In the UK migrants frequent a few places, firstly cheap shops… Lidl/Aldi do a roaring trade selling home favourites to various nationalities so I now spend most of my shopping budget in the local cheap and chinky (that’s not it’s real name, it’s just a food shop run by Chinese people at great prices).  Secondly and contrary to general British opinion: Migrants want to work.  My plan is to make money here so when the opportunity to work long unsociable hours (6am-4pm) for good money came around, I jumped at the chance.  Firstly there was the formality of taking a DNA test… or so I thought.  It turns out it was D&A, meaning drug and alcohol test, pee in a cup to you and I.  You would have thought this would come naturally to a cyclist but I’ve never been drug tested so it was novel.  By tea time (which is pronounced dinner over here) I had passed and was set for my new job as a concrete sheet loader man… it truly is as exciting as it sounds but at over $1000 (£645) per week I think I can live with it for a while.

I have been somewhat cut off from the outside world this last few weeks with precious little internet and just the local paper whose sports pages are packed out with AFL (Australian rules football, basically quidditch without brooms) for company.  Never the less the façade being played out in cycling at the moment has trickled down to me.  I won’t vent my frustrations here but it does seem as though cycling is in need of a root and branch clean up. At the age of 15 I was asked at a cycling camp who my hero was and I replied “Lance Armstrong”.   Lance for me brought cycling from an obscure hobby to a genuine interest and made it a big chunk of my life.  I took it for what it was, entertainment and fun. It’s difficult to know where cycling can go immediately… certainly a new poster boy is needed.  Personally I think the sport needs a new direction, people who want a return to the glory days need to take off their cotton cycling jersey and put down their 1976 cycling weekly.  But you should believe in the new generation, I’ve seen what the Dave Rayner riders dream of and they want to do it right, do it clean… see for yourself at www.daveraynerfund.com or even better grab a ticket to the Dinner and meet the guys!    

Cheers for now x

                                                             Motorised doping anyone???

                                           Hmmm…. Broccoflower, these aussies have been down here too long 

New beginnings & fosters adverts

7 weeks ago I wrote about my endeavours of disastrous stage racing.  As the weeks slipped by without much more than a leisurely pedal being turned I began to think about the off season and what I could make of my life as my cycling began to stall. It gave me a chance to step back and to consider how and even if I could turn a dream into reality.  Sadly the answer to this question which all young aspiring athletes must ask of themselves is a whispered no.  I am proud to say that I took chances and risks when they came my way, I’m humbled by the support of the Dave Rayner fund and most of all blessed to have broadened my horizons and enhanced my life through cycling.  But what of the here and now… where do I write from?

Well I’m never one to hang around but neither am I impulsive.  If I go shopping for clothing I only ever have to pay for an hours parking… I make my mind up and stick with it… sometimes because I’ve lost the receipts though! I knew work had to be my main priority and like a huge chunk of my generation the pond simply can’t provide for all the fish, so I made the biggest decision of my life and decided to fly from the pond of recession to the new land of opportunity… West Australia.  It’s a big step.  My grandmother posed herself the same question in 1976, England was mere existence for her, she wanted a life and to have things to look forward to.  Australia was as desperate for workers as she was for opportunity and so she gambled everything on the leaflet offering a better life. Back then the internet was something inside a pair of swim shorts and Australia had only just stopped being a six weeks boat journey away so information was hard to come by and the bravery required to jump into the unknown with two young children must have been immense.  I decided to make that same life changing step whilst gazing aimlessly out of the window one morning.  I wouldn’t say I’m quite as brave as her, I have never had to go hungry on an evening or knit my own clothes but the principles of wanting a better life remain. 

September 12^th was the big day.  I arrived bleary eyed at Manchester airport and showed up to the front desk destined for Singapore.  It wasn’t my knees trembling but my arms weirdly as I struggled to hide the fact my luggage was overweight.  After a shoulder wrenching couple of minutes of dangling my bag gently on the scales I was cleared and left to say my goodbyes to my family.  It was a true evacuees experience as my mum put on a brave face, my dad offered me a firm handshake and my sister politely asked if I had any English change I’d like to get rid of… I felt only excitement at the time but as I read and re-read the words of wisdom in the good luck card from my parents I knew the lump in my throat wasn’t excitement… that lump is normally somewhere else!  Singapore arrived after some amazing thunderstorms around Delhi and with over two hours to kill it was time to do some Yorkshire man’s shopping… that is, showing up with no money and looking only to waste time.  I love airports; they are the only place to truly people watch.  Being in Asia there was the expected abundance of Chinese tourists taking cliché photos at every opportunity.  Singapore is probably the best airport in the world to kill a few hours as I took myself off on the tour of the butterfly gardens and marvelled at the koi carp pond with the building excitement that Oz was just around the corner. 

September 13^th finally came after what felt like the longest day of my life… I proudly slipped into the fast track queue for passport control for Australians only.  I stood there at the machine and scanned away, the bloke next to me marvelling at my computer skills before piping up and asking if he was ‘doing it right’? I hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so early but I put my new mentality into practice… Lie back and think of the fosters adverts! As I quickly let out a ‘Yeeeaaaahhh’ in my finest OZ twang.  Then it was onto customs and my first opportunity to get in an inadvisable joke.  The giant red circular bag laid on top of my luggage labelled ‘Roval Aerodynamic wheels’.  The bloke in front glanced down at its locked zips, looked up at me and asked ‘what’s in it’? …. Oh dear! Never one to miss a moment of comedy I replied ‘frisbie’… He raised an eyebrow before probably resuming his day dream. 

I’ve been here three full days now.  The logistics are falling into place and with no sign of a bike yet Job hunting is my number one priority.  The local papers are full of opportunities which can give me little doubt as to whether I’ve made the right decision so wish this ‘Pommy’ all the best!

New beginnings & fosters adverts

7 weeks ago I wrote about my endeavours of disastrous stage racing.  As the weeks slipped by without much more than a leisurely pedal being turned I began to think about the off season and what I could make of my life as my cycling began to stall. It gave me a chance to step back and to consider how and even if I could turn a dream into reality.  Sadly the answer to this question which all young aspiring athletes must ask of themselves is a whispered no.  I am proud to say that I took chances and risks when they came my way, I’m humbled by the support of the Dave Rayner fund and most of all blessed to have broadened my horizons and enhanced my life through cycling.  But what of the here and now… where do I write from?

Well I’m never one to hang around but neither am I impulsive.  If I go shopping for clothing I only ever have to pay for an hours parking… I make my mind up and stick with it… sometimes because I’ve lost the receipts though! I knew work had to be my main priority and like a huge chunk of my generation the pond simply can’t provide for all the fish, so I made the biggest decision of my life and decided to fly from the pond of recession to the new land of opportunity… West Australia.  It’s a big step.  My grandmother posed herself the same question in 1976, England was mere existence for her, she wanted a life and to have things to look forward to.  Australia was as desperate for workers as she was for opportunity and so she gambled everything on the leaflet offering a better life. Back then the internet was something inside a pair of swim shorts and Australia had only just stopped being a six weeks boat journey away so information was hard to come by and the bravery required to jump into the unknown with two young children must have been immense.  I decided to make that same life changing step whilst gazing aimlessly out of the window one morning.  I wouldn’t say I’m quite as brave as her, I have never had to go hungry on an evening or knit my own clothes but the principles of wanting a better life remain. 

September 12^th was the big day.  I arrived bleary eyed at Manchester airport and showed up to the front desk destined for Singapore.  It wasn’t my knees trembling but my arms weirdly as I struggled to hide the fact my luggage was overweight.  After a shoulder wrenching couple of minutes of dangling my bag gently on the scales I was cleared and left to say my goodbyes to my family.  It was a true evacuees experience as my mum put on a brave face, my dad offered me a firm handshake and my sister politely asked if I had any English change I’d like to get rid of… I felt only excitement at the time but as I read and re-read the words of wisdom in the good luck card from my parents I knew the lump in my throat wasn’t excitement… that lump is normally somewhere else!  Singapore arrived after some amazing thunderstorms around Delhi and with over two hours to kill it was time to do some Yorkshire man’s shopping… that is, showing up with no money and looking only to waste time.  I love airports; they are the only place to truly people watch.  Being in Asia there was the expected abundance of Chinese tourists taking cliché photos at every opportunity.  Singapore is probably the best airport in the world to kill a few hours as I took myself off on the tour of the butterfly gardens and marvelled at the koi carp pond with the building excitement that Oz was just around the corner. 

September 13^th finally came after what felt like the longest day of my life… I proudly slipped into the fast track queue for passport control for Australians only.  I stood there at the machine and scanned away, the bloke next to me marvelling at my computer skills before piping up and asking if he was ‘doing it right’? I hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so early but I put my new mentality into practice… Lie back and think of the fosters adverts! As I quickly let out a ‘Yeeeaaaahhh’ in my finest OZ twang.  Then it was onto customs and my first opportunity to get in an inadvisable joke.  The giant red circular bag laid on top of my luggage labelled ‘Roval Aerodynamic wheels’.  The bloke in front glanced down at its locked zips, looked up at me and asked ‘what’s in it’? …. Oh dear! Never one to miss a moment of comedy I replied ‘frisbie’… He raised an eyebrow before probably resuming his day dream. 

I’ve been here three full days now.  The logistics are falling into place and with no sign of a bike yet Job hunting is my number one priority.  The local papers are full of opportunities which can give me little doubt as to whether I’ve made the right decision so wish this ‘Pommy’ all the best!

Poetic Injustice

Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream

But mine was to go to Belgium and boy was I keen

My bag was packed and the bike was built

And I jacked in my job, no feelings of guilt

A quick email and the Rayner Fund were on side

But come March and there was nowhere to hide

Queue the wind, wet and cold, or just leave it at grim

March rolled into April and still no signs of a win

May was looking up as I cracked that top 20

I raced every other day so opportunities were plenty

Then the highlight of the year as I rode to watch the tour

A great day out and a look at what I was aiming for

But from highs to lows as I took a tumble and broke my frame

I was battered and bruised, my head out the game

I remember the drive home, I wanted to cry like a baby

Even the radio couldn’t console me with a bit of ‘call me maybe’

But I got back on the spare bike and did what I could

But prize money never went far with Belgium’s Robin Hood

My final chance came in my only stage race of the year

The hiss of a puncture and I was out the rear

But I leave Belgium with no regrets… no wins either

 It’s in words not trophies that I’ll be remembered as a rider

The best laid plans…

Being a foreigner abroad occasionally has its advantages.  We decided to go watch the new Spiderman movie mid-week at the local cinema in Geel.  The lady serving us at the desk was about as proficient in English as I was in Flemish but I finally got my ticket at a whopping 9 euros having probably been charged for everything from 3D glasses to a VIP backstage pass.  My fellow housemate Chris then showed me how it’s done as he put his newly shaven face to the test and unashamedly asked for a ‘kinder’ (child) ticket.  This redressed the balance of international relations as he smugly handed over his 6 euros and in we went.  The second perk of being an English speaker in Belgium then became apparent.  The movie was newly out and would have been packed with everything from popcorn rustlers to mobile phone talkers back home.  It was refreshing to see the place as good as empty as we walked in and sprawled out over about 5 seats.  The movie was entirely in English so I’m guessing that the Belgians opted not to spend the evening glued to the subtitles bar at the bottom of the screen and instead will just wait for the DVD release.   

The following day was spent in the Kitchen.  I’d agreed to knock up a few lasagnes for I think 9 of us so the majority of the afternoon was spent chopping, stirring and baking.  They turned out reasonably enough and as we all sat down 7 hungry cyclists tucked in accompanied by a Mclay signature salad.  The conversation turned inevitably onto the following days racing.  My 10 days training block had slipped by hampered by a bit of a cold and there was no amount of joking in the world that could deny the fact that tomorrow was the start of the tour of Vlaams Brabant.  I went to sleep hoping for good legs in the morning.

I turned up to stage 1 in the nearby town of Rotselaar with the mercury already touching 32 degrees.  I met my team mates and sat down for the team briefing where the main focus was on making the time cut for the days 150km stage.  I was filled with a nervous excitement before the start and as we lined up at 1:30pm I was hopeful for a good day in the saddle.  I sat mid bunch early on as all around me was a blur of colour: blue skies, different team kits and fields zipping past.  The constant chunter within the bunch was broken occasionally by the squeal of brake pads and the odd crunch as riders crashed behind.  I got over the days first few bergs (hills) pretty comfortably before I noticed my front skewer was rapidly unscrewing itself.  Opportunities to fix this problem were slim but I hopped off the bike at the top of a climb and quickly tightened the handle up before tagging onto the back of the bunch.  Having covered the first 50km loop I noticed my rear skewer had come loose as well and that the wheel was just moments from slipping out of its dropout.  I was cursing the bloke who’d so generously put my wheels in my bike at the start and also myself for not checking his handy work.  The wheel had slipped and had rubbed itself bare onto the frame and with a big bang the tyre burst.  I dropped back through the bunch and pulled over to the side of the road looking frantically for my team car.  This was one of those moments in time when the adrenaline is flowing, seconds feel like hours and as every car passed me I knew the task of regaining the bunch was becoming harder.  Finally my team car pulled alongside me and gave me a wheel after around 3 minutes of looking like a deranged hitch hiker waving the wheel in the air.   The chase was on as I struggled to regain the bumper of the car as it rocketed off at 70kmp/h.  Finally after about 5km we gained sight of the broom wagon, the last vehicle in the race convoy.  I was panicking a bit and immediately took off trying to weave my way through the cars.  The small lanes and constant corners made my job even harder, the cars shot off on the straights and crawled around the corners meaning I was largely on my own trying to close the 1 minute gap to the peloton.  I began slipping back through the cars after the days 4th berg… I was in real trouble now as I risked slipping out the race altogether.  Finally the game was over as the broom wagon pulled alongside me to tell me I was on my own.  I continued to push on but in my heart I knew the game was up, I rolled on for another 40km to the finishing circuit before being pulled out by the commisaires.  I sat down at the car feeling despondent.  This had been my chance to prove myself in a genuinely big race.  I was careless firstly in not double checking my equipment but most of all I was disgusted at myself for not making it back into the bunch.  I had based the second half of my season around this race with the aim of impressing a few big teams and taking a step up next year.  The commisaires handed me a discretionary 20 euro fine for grabbing hold of a couple of team cars in my attempts to get back up to the peloton, a small insult if nothing else.  Next up for me is a holiday in deepest Dorset on England’s south coast where I will take time out to think things over and decide where the path will lead me next.  Cheers for reading.